


Chickenfingers

by almaasi



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Autistic Julian Bashir, Cloaca, Clothed Sex, Consent Play, Double Entendre, Explicit Consent, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Illustrated, M/M, Misunderstandings, One Shot, Public Sex, Smut, playing chicken, sorry about the title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28159047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Quark’s bar is loud and crowded tonight, so maybe nobody will notice the doe-eyed doctor with his hand between the tailor’s trembling thighs.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 11
Kudos: 143





	Chickenfingers

**Author's Note:**

> The title is deeply cursed. I realise this. But once I’d thought of it, there was simply no other option.
> 
> I wrote this at the end of October 2020; I discovered the term “fingerblasting” and was inspired. The act in this is non-penetrative, though. Also kind of inspired by the fact that [Dillards was posting many short, smutty fics](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945888) throughout October. I don’t have that kind of writing stamina right now (I assigned all of my spoons to Sid City Social Club community projects), but hey, I wrote a thing!
> 
> I kept it vague on whether Julian and Garak are a couple already, so it’s up to you if this is their first time or not~
> 
> Warning for (possibly major) secondhand embarrassment triggers. Julian is... Julian.

Julian’s heart started to pound. He must’ve misheard.

Quark had decided to lean into the ‘nightlife’ aspect of the bar, and now the place was open late, music pumping into every corner, bassline thrumming in the walls. It was still a novelty, and everyone on the station knew it wouldn’t last, as Odo was already working on repealing everything in Quark’s contract that allowed the bar to stay open late and sell meals with every drink. Current bets said there was about a week of this left, at best. So people were going to relish the experience while it lasted.

Thus, at present, it was too loud and too crowded in the bar to hear anything properly. Even genetically enhanced ears struggled when Garak’s tone occasionally matched the wavelength of ancient Trill lightstorm jazz. Julian and Garak both sat in a booth seat which curved around the table, but half a metre between them was enough space for syllables to get lost.

“Pardon me?” Julian asked, still flushed hot.

Just to the right of him, Garak looked back innocently.

Julian urged for clarification, “You want to... play chicken? With _me_?”

“Mm.” Garak let his menu lower to the table. “Or would you permit a little more spice?”

Julian’s skin was prickling hot and cold. “Here?” His throat had gone tight, his hands clenched on thighs. He glanced around the crowded area, blushing when he eventually looked back at his friend. “I-I-I’d really say playing chicken _here_ is spicy enough, wouldn’t you?”

Garak narrowed his eyes. “You were the one who told me you’d like to expand your horizons and leave your ‘comfort zone’, Doctor. You’d think trying something new within the familiar confines of Quark’s would be a good place to start. Tell me, if you’re so against this, what _would_ you rather enjoy tonight?”

Julian gaped at him. “I... I sort of meant I’d want to try... ice skating, or painting, or swearing, or something. Not—” He gulped, sucking his bottom lip.

He wondered if they could. He took another look around and quickly calculated that maybe they were sheltered enough; there was a perforated wall divider either side of the booth, and since this table was occupied, nobody was looking this way.

Garak shook his head in disgrace. “My dear, _dear_ Doctor... You present yourself as such an adventurous man, and yet, truly, one sprinkle of cinnamon on your ironically _un_ -spicy I’danian spice pudding would have you scooping the thing back into the reclaimer. With tastebuds as oversensitive as yours, I’m surprised you don’t live off _rations_.”

Julian replied, “Well, I would, if Starfleet would let me! But— Garak, you can’t really be serious?” Confused now, he leaned his crossed forearms on the table. “I know we’ve both had a few drinks, but don’t you think we should... I don’t know...” blushing again, “try it in private first?”

Garak gave him a strange look. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as easily intimidated as you.”

Julian’s blood boiled. “Easily intimi—” He huffed. “I’ll have you know I shouted at a _Klingon_ earlier today. _And_ told off somebody’s mother.”

Garak chuckled. “And yet...”

Oh, now Julian was fuming. “I’m not obligated to say yes to you, you know. I’m not letting you talk me into anything I don’t want to do.”

“Have it your way, Doctor.” Garak snapped his menu shut. “We’ll go to my quarters.”

Julian’s hand shot out and grabbed Garak’s wrist. Garak lowered himself back his seat, waiting for Julian to speak.

“Alright,” Julian said. He swallowed, eyes skittering between the crowded bar and Garak, but finally lingering on Garak. “I can be _adventurous_. But you go first, please. I don’t think I can— I’ve never done this before. I’m just a bit... nervous.”

Garak gave him a baffled stare. “Evidently.” He got up again, and Julian gasped, reaching out, but Garak was too determined, and left the table with the menu.

Julian wanted to call for him, but Garak was already lost in the crowd. So instead Julian retreated, sinking down in shame.

He didn’t want to _be_ like this. He wanted to be confident. Self-assured. Sexy! Why was it so easy in the holosuite? He could seduce anyone in there. Why was it so easy in a medical situation? He’d never let a patient get away from him.

So why was _this_ so hard? Why was it so hard with _Garak_?

He supposed he’d better get back to his quarters, and eat something pleasantly tasteless, since Garak had left without him. Someone else would want the table. _Quark_ would want the table, or he’d start charging for use of the seat.

Julian was about to get up when Garak sat down again.

“Oh,” Julian said.

Garak settled back where he’d been sitting, looking content. “I took the liberty of ordering you a cold, sweet drink,” he told Julian. “In case the _heat_ becomes too much for you.”

Julian burned hotter. He couldn’t take his eyes off Garak. “How are you so calm about this?”

Garak hum-hummed a laugh, apparently amused by Julian’s flusterment. “It’s not so frightening once you get used to it, Doctor. Try it a few times; you’ll build up an appetite.”

Julian wet his lips and shifted in his seat a little. He was too nervous to feel aroused, but that was probably a good thing; his uniform wouldn’t hide anything. Curious, he asked, “H-Have you done this before? With someone?”

“Hmm. Alone, I’m sorry to say. Many times.”

Julian baulked. “ _Garak_!” He huffed. “My God, I knew you were heinous, but— Honestly, I think that’s disgusting. I am _disgusted_ at you.” And he was.

Affronted by that, Garak said, “We’re not all blessed with your good looks and effortless allure, Doctor. If I must eat alone, sometimes it’s simply more interesting to dine in public.”

“But while touching yourself? That’s—!” Julian glared in another direction. “I can’t believe I’m still _sitting_ here with a _pervert_.”

Garak was quiet for a while. Busy thinking of lies to defend his actions, probably.

But he was quiet for too long.

So Julian looked at him, and was taken aback by Garak’s expression of puzzlement.

“What?” Julian asked.

“Doctor,” Garak said, “What is it exactly you think I want you to _try_ with me tonight?”

“Playing chicken!” Julian searched his eyes. “To... To... spice things up... a bit?”

Garak’s eyes twinkled as he understood something Julian hadn’t yet grasped. “You must have misheard me.” He sighed. “When you first replied to me about my dinner order, I suspected you were saying something different but over this music I couldn’t be sure. I said _plain_ chicken, Doctor. As in, referring to the unspiced, flavourless variety of replicated meat you’ve long preferred. Plain chicken. Not—”

“Playing,” Julian finished, his voice distant and hollow.

“Forgive me my ignorance,” Garak said with intrigue, leaning closer, “but what does that phrase mean for you? ‘Playing’ chicken?”

Julian’s lips bobbed open and shut, brain catching up with his racing heart.

“There’s only so much I can infer,” Garak went on, eyes lowering to Julian’s waist. “But I take it there’s some sexual connotation to it...?”

“Well— Um. Um. Sometimes, yes.” Julian’s ears had probably caught fire by now. “It means – um. Two people sort of – go at something, head-to-head, something dangerous, and keep going until one of them taps out, or they both die.”

Garak’s eyeridges rose. “Die...”

“Or get caught.”

“Ah.”

“The one who ‘chickens out’ is the loser.”

Garak eyed the teeming bar with its rattling dabo wheel and yelling patrons and bustling Ferengi waiters and laughter and clicky-clacky trays and drinks and plates and cutlery. “I see.”

Julian decided to be bolder. He could be the holosuite version of him. He could be a doctor without a patient. He could treat it all like a game, and treat himself in the process. Maybe in more ways than one.

“In this particular case,” he said firmly, “‘playing chicken’ means we touch each other until one of us can’t take it anymore.”

Garak looked back at him, face unreadable. “Does it indeed?”

“Mm-hm.” Julian nodded and looked Garak sternly in the eyes. “Probably your hand on my inner thigh and moving up to str—” He choked and looked down, eyes watering from the heat in his cheeks.

“Describe it for me,” Garak murmured, words nearly eaten by the ambient noise. “Is this a mutual experience or do we take it one at a time?”

A whimper escaped Julian’s lips. His eyes flashed to Garak’s, and saw Garak was bright-eyed and teasing. He was having fun watching Julian fall apart.

And that wouldn’t do. Julian would _not_ be messed about like that. Not now, not ever.

“How about I show you?” Julian said, glaring at Garak.

Garak straightened a bit, hands up in surrender. “By all means.”

Julian refused to hesitate. So he reached over to his right and placed his hand on Garak’s left thigh. Garak looked at it.

Julian felt heat radiating through Garak’s trousers. The fabric was soft and suede-like, and didn’t wrinkle as he stroked a centimetre closer to Garak’s crotch. Garak kept his head down, watching.

With a near-painful pulse in his throat, tongue, and hands, Julian let his hand trail up, maintaining pressure.

Garak was still watching. Unreacting.

Julian reached the tops of Garak’s thighs, finding them higher in temperature than the same place on any other species he’d felt. His breath hitched and he whispered, “Garak, you’re meant to stop me.”

Garak glanced up at him. “Am I?”

Julian licked his lips slowly, holding Garak’s eyes. He blinked once, slowly, dazed by Garak’s apparent innocence.

“Try it on me,” Julian offered. “And I’ll demonstrate.”

Garak took a moment to examine the potential audience, but having determined everyone was too absorbed in their own lives, Garak allowed his left hand to shift off the table and land on Julian’s right thigh. It immediately slipped between both thighs, as they were parted naturally.

“Oh,” Julian said. He curled fists on the tabletop, head down to look at Garak’s grey hand spread out on his inner thigh. Garak started rubbing back and forth. Julian flashed a grin, heart flipping. “That tickles.”

“May I move my hand up?”

Julian nodded.

Garak carefully pushed his hand up Julian’s long thigh, pausing every time Julian’s breath clutched. Julian would hesitate, checking the view, then would relax, and Garak would quickly make him breathless again.

Two inches from Julian’s crotch, Julian’s hand grabbed Garak’s, and he said, tight-voiced, “Stop.”

Garak retrieved his hand and pulled it back entirely. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Julian looked at him. Then he laughed. “Oh, no— Garak, that’s the _point_. That’s the game. I try and withstand as much as I can. And we take it in turns, and whoever allows the other to touch them the most, wins.”

“Ah. A remarkably juvenile game.”

“You’re the one who asked to play.”

“I think you’ll find you were the one who offered to demonstrate.”

“Either way.” Julian shrugged. He looked at his hands, now linked on the table. “That’s ‘playing chicken’. And—” he shot Garak a cheeky look, “I think _I_ won.”

Garak tutted. “You did no such thing. You were the one who pulled away twice. I would not have stopped you.”

“But you didn’t understand the rules yet, so it didn’t count.”

“I...” Garak hesitated, then forged ahead: “I do in fact understand them _now_...”

Noticing an invitation in Garak’s tone, Julian looked over.

In silence they spoke, exchanged questions, and received answers. Julian considered that neither of them were particularly clear-headed, but neither of them were _drunk_. They knew what they were doing. Mostly.

Julian wet his lips one more time, scanning the room, then parting his legs. He gave Garak a glance, then placed his chin on a hand and acted nonchalant.

He only blinked twice as Garak’s hand met his knee. He forced himself not to shut his eyes as Garak circled that knee with a hand, then began to stroke upward.

“You’re not going to watch?” Garak asked.

“If we look like we’re doing something, people will notice,” Julian said, forcing his voice monotone, although he heard the breathiness of excitement and tension mutating every word. “Oh—” He shut his eyes involuntarily. “God, your hands are so big.”

“In comparison to your slim frame, I suppose they are,” Garak admitted. “I might hold all of your... ah...” He cleared his throat. “In one hand.”

Julian humped forward on the seat, anticipating more contact. Garak hadn’t moved closer than mid-thigh. “Garak, keep going; I’m not tapping out yet.”

“If I rush, there won’t be such a buildup. I’m sure it’s the anticipation of such _intimate_ contact that makes it enjoyable.”

Julian’s breath fluttered, but he fought not to look back at Garak. “Enjoyable?”

“As all games ought to be. Either for the spectators or the players. In this case, I sincerely hope this elicits pleasure _only_ for the players.”

Julian pressed his lips together, letting out a helpless, “Mmm...”

“Too much?” Garak’s hand paused. He didn’t move up, but rubbed, cupping the curve of Julian’s upper thigh over and over. “Would you like to stop?”

Julian shook his head, breathing carefully, eyes unfocused across the bar.

Garak kept rubbing, creating some kind of internal static in Julian. Sparkling, prickly, hot.

Julian squirmed in his seat, fingers on his chin-supporting hand moving to toy with his lips, finding them plump with arousal. His breath gushed over fingertips, burning.

Garak reached the very tops of Julian’s thighs, and Julian felt an electric zap of excitement. God, _yes_!

Just a little higher...?

Maybe Garak really could fit everything in one hand...

Overwhelmed by sudden, delicious want, Julian panicked and snapped his legs closed, trapping Garak’s hand and stopping him from proceeding.

“Stop,” Julian said.

Garak removed his hand.

Julian kept his legs closed and eyes turned far away. He couldn’t look at Garak, knowing his blush would be visible even in the dim, drifting lights.

“I haven’t upset you?” Garak checked.

Julian shook his head. “No. No, not at all, I’m—” He grinned, tossing a careless look Garak’s way at last. “I’m all right. You?”

Garak nodded. “I’m fine. I think our meals will be here soon.”

Julian couldn’t care less about their meals. “Can I touch _you_ now?”

Garak made an affirming noise and leaned on the table, arms folded, eyeing the bar like he was casually observing, as he often did. “Best make it quick, Doctor.”

“What about the _anticipation_?” Julian teased, placing his hand on Garak’s knee.

“Oh, I’ve had plenty.” Garak smiled, and it crinkled his eyes. “Years.”

That last sound was swallowed by the noise, and Julian wasn’t sure whether he’d lipread correctly. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing, Doctor. A little higher, if you please.”

“Alright, alright, I’m getting there,” Julian grumbled, allowing his hand to sneak upward. “Are your thighs very sensitive? I just wonder because you didn’t really react when I touched you last.”

Garak cocked his head a tiny bit, looking at Julian unsurely. “Are yours sensitive?”

Julian met his eyes, surprised. “Oh. Yes. Very. Inner thighs especially.”

“Ah.” Garak glanced down, looking at Julian’s hand on his muscular mid-thigh. “Cardassian thighs are certainly not the most reactive of body parts. But there is a certain intimacy in allowing someone access. I thought – apologies – I thought that intimacy was what excited you about this.”

Julian rolled a shoulder. “Well, there’s that too.” He snaked a hand around the top of Garak’s thigh, feeling where his belly pudge strained under his tunic. “How much do you feel?”

“All of it,” Garak said. “Every fingertip. But—” He paused for a breath unexpectedly. “But— Hm.” He swallowed, eyelashes fluttering. He wet his lips with his tongue, and stayed quiet.

“But?” Julian asked, stroking between Garak’s thighs. His thighs were thick enough that they touched, and Julian’s knuckles grazed between them as he pushed down between the hot valley.

Garak just breathed, lips pressed shut.

“Garak,” Julian smiled, head tilting, “are you actually feeling something?”

Garak grunted. “Not as much as you were, I’m sure.”

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I don’t.”

Julian let a single finger skim the line between thigh and crotch. “If you don’t stop me, I’ll keep going.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Someone might see.”

“Again, that is, I believe, the idea. You concentrate on your task, Doctor, and I’ll keep watch. When I say stop – _if_ I say stop – only _then_ do you stop.”

Julian peered at him in astonishment. “So you’re giving me orders, now?”

“Merely playing the game.”

Julian teased at the front of Garak’s trousers with fingertips, tracing the texture of the tunic hem that wrinkled there. He watched Garak’s face, appreciating a vulnerable tell: a double blink.

“You don’t need to win, Garak,” Julian said quietly, as he began to run his fingertips down Garak’s crotch. “If you’re not comfortable—”

“Just touch me, Doctor,” Garak said curtly. “I assure you I can determine my own level of comfort.”

Julian swallowed, and then nodded, eyes lowering. He explored the shape of Garak’s crotch, confirming a theory: Garak had no external genitals, but he certainly was receptive to touch in that area. Julian guided a finger down, down into the darkness where the perineum would be on a Human. Garak’s breath stuttered.

And still he didn’t ask to stop.

“I think you’ve won,” Julian said.

“For pity’s sake, Doctor; I’ve won when _I_ say I’ve won.”

“Isn’t it my turn now?”

“If you pull away now, is that not you ‘chickening out’?”

Julian lit up with a small laugh. “I suppose.”

Garak set a hand on Julian’s, and Julian froze, thinking that was it, but Garak just met his eyes and said, “Do _you_ wish to stop?”

Julian shook his head without needing to think. His eyes dipped to Garak’s lips, but he forced them back up. “I don’t want to stop. I’d be happier doing this in private, obviously, but... no. I don’t want to stop.”

“Even if you... start to feel something a little wet under your fingers?”

Julian looked down, then back up. His heart and belly swirled. “This is turning you on...”

“Do you feel it?”

Julian nodded shyly.

Garak relaxed onto his fingertip, grinding slightly. “Forgive me; it’s been a while.”

“It’s all right.” Julian spoke gently, feeling more comfortable now he knew he had more power. “I got a bit excited as well, actually.”

“Did you really?”

“That was why I asked you to stop. If I got an erection it would be impossible to hide. At least you’ve got the table in front of you. My entire side’s exposed.”

Garak shut his eyes and exhaled. “You have such _beautifully_ long fingers.”

Julian used those fingers to push on Garak’s cloaca, feeling the returning pressure of an erection unable to evert.

Garak eventually let his eyes drift to meet Julian’s, and gazed at him desperately, helplessly. It was strange, but it seemed as though Garak remained in control, yet was entirely at Julian’s mercy. They watched each other, contact unbroken. Julian kept an ear out for changes in the room, but couldn’t help but devote most of his attention to the man before him: always so composed, here and now unravelling. Garak shut his eyes again, giving himself over to pleasure.

“Garak?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want me to make you come?”

Garak’s eyes snapped open, dark on Julian’s.

Julian looked back, knowing he must look wanton and shiny-eyed and hungry. Hungrier for Garak than he’d ever be for anything made by Quark’s replicator, certainly.

“We could save it,” Julian went on. “For after dinner. We can stop for now, and go to your quarters once we’ve eaten.”

Garak breathed hesitantly.

Julian smiled. “That said, you don’t need to wait. I can do it here. But—” He gave the bar a performative look, demonstrating his vigilance. “I think you might need to be very careful, Garak. You look a little undone already, but...” With his mouth hanging open on a tiny smirk, Julian gave his tailor friend a sultry look down his body. “Unless you stay expertly composed, I think you might give us away.”

Offended, Garak replied, “I was practically the _head_ of the Obsidian Order. If I can’t keep a straight face in a simple dining setting there’s really no hope for me, is there?”

“That’s what I thought.” Julian smirked and pursed his lips, looking away. He let two fingers stroke as a pair, splitting either side of the bump of Garak’s withheld erection, then returning together. “Although,” Julian added, “I doubt you got any of _this_ at the Obsidian Order.”

Garak grunted. “Not from anyone as dextrous as you.”

Julian bit his lip in a grin. “Or anyone, full stop.”

Garak began to hump Julian’s palm. “It’s really not fair of you to see right through me when you’re not even looking at me.”

“It’s really not fair of _you_ to use my hand like that,” Julian retorted, giving Garak’s needy hip movements a dark look. “I’m meant to be getting you off, not whatever this is. If you just needed a hand, I could’ve filled one of my fitted medical gloves with warm water.”

Garak caught himself before he moaned; instead the sound came out as an open-mouthed crackle, eyes shut. He closed his legs around Julian’s hand, held the back of it with a tender grip, and guided Julian’s fingers down, masturbating, using Julian’s hand as a tool.

Julian couldn’t help but tingle, feeling the hot, damp fabric wrinkle up on his fingertips, watching Garak’s movements get so urgent.

“You’re not going to last long,” Julian told him.

“I’m – not – trying to,” Garak whispered, sharp, desperate noises heard through the blare of the bar. “Doctor...”

Julian saw movement and hissed out of the corner of his mouth: “Pull it together; we have company!”

Garak froze up, eyes open and alert. He saw who approached and put on a pleasant smile.

Leeta’s elegant form shaded the table as she brought trays for them. “Heya, Julian.”

Julian gave his ex-girlfriend a quick smile. “Hi.”

“O-kayy, let’s see...” Leeta rotated a tray. She frowned. “Hm, I think I have the wrong order. Hang on—”

“Miss Leeta,” Garak said, his voice perfectly tempered, his pose comfortable from the waist up, though his thighs were clamped around Julian’s hand under the table, refusing to let him escape. “If there are two orders of spicy chicken, those are indeed for us.”

“Oh?” Leeta put the trays down, eyebrows halfway up to her short red hair. “Julian Bashir? Trying a _flavour_?”

Julian put on a smile. “What can I say? Garak brings out the worst in me.”

Leeta laughed pleasantly, a hand on her chest. “Or the best.” She gave Julian a fond look, then smiled at Garak. “You’re working miracles, Garak.” With a wink, she set down the last of their order: a glass of spectrum colours, nearly full to the brim with ice and whatever sweet drink Garak had chosen. And then Leeta left, none the wiser to what was happening below the table.

Garak relaxed, and in silence, Julian returned to pleasuring him, even deafer than before, as now he had a thumping, thumping heartbeat to contend with as well.

Cardassians were squirmy lovers, it seemed. Demanding. Garak largely kept control over his facial expression, but there would be moments where his mouth would go slack and his eyelids would fall closed, and Julian would feel a tiny bit more slickness between his legs.

Soon Garak began to tremble: thighs vibrating, breaths aflutter.

The smell of the food began to infiltrate Julian’s senses, and his mouth watered. Crisp, fatty morsels of red-flecked fried chicken (replicated, of course), all sides fanned with fluffy green salad, and ooh, steaming _wedge_ chips, tiny bowls of dipping sauces at the side...

“Doctor,” Garak said sternly. “Finish with me first. And you can h-have your reward... after.”

“Reward?” Julian smirked. “I know it smells good, but it’s no I’danian spice pudding.”

“You misunderstand,” Garak said. “Y-Your r-hrhward— I’m—”

Garak grabbed the side of the table with one hand and the side of the seat with the other, his breath going short. He shook, spasmed – and then his thighs _clenched_. Julian gasped as he felt a splash of heat in his palm, slicking the spaces between his fingers.

Somehow Garak’s face remained blank throughout his climax, with his eyes fixed on a distant point in the bar. Julian, however, was the one dazed and dazzled, unable to look away from his hand, now shining wet in the shadow of the table. Garak had come into his palm without ever everting, and still he pushed there, squashing his weight carefully into Julian’s hand and rolling it about, seeking more stimulation.

Finally Garak exhaled, and smiled in relief as his movement stopped. But he acted casually, as if all he’d done was get something tricky out from between his teeth. “Now!” he said, bringing his tray towards him. “What have we here? Ah! Wonderful.” He took up his cutlery and rotated his plate, ready to eat.

“Garak?” Julian said. He took a napkin from his own tray and held it in his wet hand, cleaning himself up.

“Hm?” Garak started cutting his food.

Julian looked at his companion hopefully. “Can I have my reward now?”

Garak peered back as though he wasn’t sure what Julian meant. For a moment Julian chilled, wondering if they’d been playing a different game than he thought – but then Garak’s expression split into a warm and affectionate smile, and Julian smiled with him, glad to be included in the joke.

“Of course, my dear,” Garak said. He shifted on the seat, ready to get up. He paused for a moment, realising he’d left a patch of the seat wet, but surreptitiously dried it with the hem of his tunic. “I’ll have Miss Leeta package up our dinner to go, shall I? And we can clean up and dine in private.”

Julian’s eyebrows rose. “The food will get cold by the time we get to your quarters.”

Garak stood beside the table, beaming, looking at Julian with obvious intention. “Ohh, Doctor,” he said, “once you’ve experienced what I have in mind for you, you’ll work up such an appetite that you won’t mind _what_ you put in your mouth. Even the spiciest or most _flavourful_ of delicacies.”

Julian smirked. “Mm. Don’t tell me. That was your plan all along?”

Garak gave him a scorching look, his enigmatic smile twinkling in his eyes like starlight. He gave no answer before he left.

But that was answer enough.

Julian leaned back in his seat, still hungry, but smiling.

He’d be satiated soon enough.

**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

> And then Julian has an especially delicious evening. Hee hee.
> 
> ★ [Art reblog on tumblr!](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/637883290774306816/so-who-wants-a-saucy-4k-of-garashir-set-in)
> 
> If you want more of my Garashir fics, [here’s ALL OF THEM.](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=8474&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi) Currently 28. More to come. (And [here’s all the smut](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brating_ids%5D%5B%5D=13&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=8474&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi), if that’s what you’re after.)
> 
> Unless there’s a surprise fic that pops out of nowhere, I think this might be the last fic I’m posting in 2020. So I will take this moment to congratulate you on making it through this g o d a w f u l year. I hope you found moments of peace and happiness throughout.
> 
> At the end of last year, in the notes of my Garashir fic [The Cupid Computer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995068), I said I hoped 2020 was the year of “the right people popping into your life when you least expect it.” And for me, it completely was. I’ve found a little (hm, not _so_ little) family in the [Sid City Social Club](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/623090041070206976/hello-im-such-a-fan-of-your-blog-and-im-about), and those spectacular people have collectively brought me to life in ways I never thought would or could happen. (I’m especially grateful for Sid’s friend and manager, Mel, who took me under her wing like the world’s most wonderful mama duck. I wanna be like her when I grow up.)
> 
> Following that, and following the events of a whole-ass year of free-range nightmares, I wish for safety, survival, and strength, for all of us and our loved ones. I hope we all learn things and grow in ways that move us towards being the people we’d most like to be, surfing on waves of joy.
> 
> Thank you for being here, reading my gay alien smut. And thank you for being here in the world. You are wonderful, and you are loved.
> 
> Elmie x


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